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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29029236">Garnishes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vukovich/pseuds/Vukovich'>Vukovich</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Criminal Draco Malfoy, Explicit Consent, Food Porn, Food Snobbery, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Potioneer Draco Malfoy, Sad Ending, Unredeemed Draco Malfoy, Veela Mates, manbun, veela louis weasley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-04-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:00:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,318</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29029236</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vukovich/pseuds/Vukovich</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco is a Dark potioneer, but only for the discriminating client.<br/>Louis is a Veela waiter, but only for the discriminating client.</p>
<p>Draco is a widower, and that's fine.<br/>Louis is a thirsty mess, and that's fine.</p>
<p>Draco is just trying to work, good GOD.<br/>Louis is just trying to fuck, good GOD.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Louis Weasley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Feta is Not a Solution</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Squibs weren’t entirely useless, Draco mused, running a thumbnail over the polished walnut table. They could tidy up well enough. They could be rather creative chefs. They could take orders nearly as well as house elves, really.</p>
<p>But unlike house elves, they could be bribed into silence about his presence. It took a pitifully-small handful of Galleons a week to reserve the sumptuous private dining room in Soho. The Goblins wouldn’t exchange currency for Squibs. Not even the owners and chefs of <i>Le Néflier</i>. It made them conveniently desperate for those shiny gold coins.</p>
<p>If Malfoy Manor were an opulent, exhibitionist tribute to its own legacy, the <i>Le Néflier</i> private dining room was the furtive, revelatory loo wank that couldn’t be forgotten. It may have had something to do with the gleaming mahogany-paneled walls and emerald velvet upholstery, and some lingering Slytherin tendencies.</p>
<p>Prejudices aside, it was a quiet, plush little space to spend Tuesday afternoons with piles of scrolls, no surveillance, and excellent service. Draco cast a <em>Tempus</em> discretely under the table, watched it roll over to “2:00 PM”, and the heavy door swung open. Truly excellent service.</p>
<p>Without a word, the dark-haired man, who probably had a name, turned a bottle of wine over for his approval and set a draft of the upcoming Saturday prix fixe tasting menu on the table. Richard and Samuel, Squibs though they may be, didn't decline an opportunity to consult his palate.</p>
<p>Seven small courses, on the half-hour, over the three hours he used the room. All rather perfect, he thought as he compared the menu and vintage. He nodded, and the waiter… <em>Francis</em>, maybe, uncorked the bottle and set it on the table to breathe. With another nod from Draco, the man left to retrieve the first course; a half-portion of a beet and feta salad.</p>
<p>Richard was getting entirely too fond of feta, Draco thought as he jotted notes on the back of the menu and slid the plate away. In twenty minutes, another dish would arrive, and in the short timespan, he would make progress on the rune-covered scrolls in front of him. It wasn’t that he was bribing himself with the UK’s finest cuisine to accomplish his own goals, but… it also wasn’t <em>not</em> precisely that.</p>
<p>It was tedious work, revising potions on paper. It was doubly tedious to have to watch one’s back while doing so merely due to the unsavory nature of the potions. A few were outright illegal, and most on these scrolls were dubious enough that a Death Eater would face charges if caught with them. Or scrolls with mention of them. Or knowledge of them at all, really.</p>
<p>Merlin bless these unwitting Squibs. They had no idea Malfesium earned more gold through the work he did at this table than it did through its dozens of apothecaries throughout Europe. The apothecary counters turned a small profit, but nothing compared to the vials and Galleons that flowed through its back rooms and basements.</p>
<p>He topped off his glass and set the bottle at the top of the unrolled parchment as a paperweight. It had taken fifteen years of Potioneering to get clientele like this. A custom order, this one was. Customer unknown. Customer pre-paid. Handsomely.</p>
<p><em>Icarux</em>. Flight in a bottle. Abraxan hair, Angel’s Trumpet, Camphirated Spirit, a touch of Squill bulb. And failure. The theory was solid, but the results had been… well, there was a reason Malfesium employed its own solicitors and kept an undertaker on retainer.</p>
<p>A slight draft from the door whispered over the parchment, and the picked-at salad disappeared under nimble fingers, replaced by a plate of quinoa, sun-dried tomatoes, and mint. Draco frowned, waited for the door to close, and Vanished the plate. Vanished, like all unworthy things. No scribbled note on the menu necessary for <em>that</em> evaluation. Volumes in silence.</p>
<p>The Runes mocked him even as he wrote them, complex molecular interchanges skittering through his mind as he dissected flavors across his tongue.</p>
<p>
  <b>Abraxan hair, Angel’s Trumpet, Camphirated Spirit, and a touch of Squill bulb.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Abraxan hair, <strike>Angel’s Trumpet</strike> Scarab Beetle, Camphirated Spirit, and a touch of Squill bulb.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Salmon, dill, lemon, boring. Cardamum? No.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Abraxan hair, Angel’s Trumpet, <strike>Camphirated Spirit</strike> Salamander Blood, and a touch of Squill bulb.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Abraxan hair, Angel’s Trumpet, Camphirated Spirit, and a <strike>touch</strike> liberal dose of Squill bulb.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Filet, garlic, anchovy. Too little salt, too much heat.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Abraxan hair, Angel’s Trumpet, Camphirated Spirit, and a touch of <strike>Squill bulb</strike> Pritcher’s Porritch.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Abraxan hair, <strike>Angel’s Trumpet, Camphirated Spirit</strike> Ptolemy and Mallosweet, and a touch of Squill bulb.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Tabouli, orange zest, orange zest. Fucking orange zest.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Abraxan hair, Angel’s Trumpet, <strike>Camphirated Spirit, and a touch of Squill bulb</strike> Lacewing Fly.</b>
</p>
<p>Draco rubbed his eyes and cast a <em>Tempus</em>. "4:55 PM".</p>
<p>The Muggle waiter entered, and he waved off the <em>Tempus</em>, sliding the man the annotated menu in exchange for dessert.</p>
<p>
  <em>Feta is your problem, not a solution. Less cardamum. Garnish with the zest, don’t add it. Your new grillardin should be fired before he starts one.</em>
</p>
<p>The man left, and Draco gazed in wonder at the concoction before him. Every dessert was delectable and beyond reproach; from Chocolate Frogs to… this. A deconstructed-reconstructed-misconstrued <em>s’more</em>, of all damned things, presented as tiramisu. A preposterous combination of confectionary and <em>patisserie</em>, and devoured entirely too quickly. He licked his lips and sighed.</p>
<p>Scrolls under his arm, and half-full bottle of wine in his hand, he slipped into the adjoining private loo. The wine would take the sting out of another evening of failed potion brewing. Softly, he closed the door and Apparated back to his office.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Questionable Service</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hm.  A corruptible Weasley.  Enticing.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><i>Tempus</i>.  2:01 PM</p><p><i>Tempus</i>.  2:04 PM</p><p><i>Tempus</i>.  2:05 PM</p><p>The door remained stubbornly silent, and Draco frowned at his waiting scrolls.  Another week of failures, another lump sum of gold paid for him to keep trying.  What his client did with untraceable flight wasn’t his problem.</p><p><i>Tempus</i>.  2:07 PM</p><p>The table wasn’t set.  Stemware and silver should have been out before his arrival.</p><p><i>Tempus</i>.  2:10 PM</p><p>The door nudged forward, still closed, resting against the latch, and a man chuckled on the other side.  Another, deeper voice replied, followed by laughter from both of them.  Just carrying on and having a fine time, apparently.  A glaring departure from the usual service.</p><p>The ornate knob turned slowly as the man’s voice let out an exaggerated groan as the door swung part way open.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, I’ll cover at four, John,” he said, fingers curling around the door frame, leaning out into the main room, even as his own hand pulled him back toward Draco.  Entirely too casual.</p><p>The paneled door swung open, and a young man saluted someone with a bottle of wine, <i>his</i> wine, before turning and… freezing stock still.  Eyes locked on Draco.  Unblinking.</p><p>He was the epitome of what Scorpius had defined as a “hipster”, during his post-Hogwarts style identity crisis.  It turned out uniforms hadn’t lent the youngest Malfoy heir much of a sense of fashion, despite his father’s knack for it.</p><p>The man brandished his bottle of wine as though he were preparing to pop the cork with a bush knife and chug it in front of a bonfire.  He sported carefully-maintained dark blonde stubble with a coordinating “man bun”.  Draco had insisted there must be room for a better term than that, but Scorpius cited actual sources on the topic.</p><p>Cornflower-blue eyes studied him from across the small room, cheerful demeanor all but evaporated.</p><p>“You’re late,” Draco muttered.  “And I would ask you for a decanter, now that you’ve swung that bottle about, but I’d settle for a glass at this point.”</p><p>Blue eyes blinked rapidly at him before bonhomie flowed back in.  “Oh, shit.  Right.  Hold on, then.”</p><p>The doorway was suddenly empty, putting Draco on display for the entirety of the <i>Le Néflier</i> main dining room.  He wondered if he should wave, but it was sparsely-populated.</p><p>The man reappeared, tulip-shaped wine glass held by the rim in his fingertips.  Entirely improper.  But it did indicate a pinot noir, which was much appreciated.  He sauntered in, steps tight with the bounce of muscles accustomed to far more strenuous work.</p><p>Rather than hold the bottle for Draco’s approval, he uncorked it and sloppily poured it into the fingerprint-laden glass.  Amber liquid sloshed up the sides and settled as he held it out in front of Draco.  Not a pinot noir, then.  A woman cackled loudly in the dining room, and he fought a scowl.</p><p>“Uh… So, hello.”  His hand held the glass out between them.  “I’m Lou.”  He set the bottle down on the table with an indelicate thunk.</p><p>Draco cleared his throat and realized he’d never actually spoken inside this room.</p><p>“Where’s Francis?”</p><p>“Who?”  Bushy dark blonde eyebrows quirked at the question.  “Oh, Philippe?  Paternity leave.  He’ll be back in six weeks.”</p><p>Draco hummed low, no hint of optimism, as he grudgingly accepted the glass and glanced around for a napkin to wipe off the fingerprints.  But no, the table hadn’t been set.  <i>Ah, the things we do for…</i> He turned the bottle.  <i>…Chardonnay?  California Chardonnay?</i></p><p>“Francis doesn’t talk,” Draco muttered against the rim of the glass, inhaling slowly.  Not an unpromising bouquet.</p><p>The man’s, <i>Lou’s</i>, arm dropped to his side, and a woven black and yellow striped wristband slipped out from under the cuff of his white shirt.  A chunky, ugly thing, like a bumblebee superimposed on a rag floor mat, shrunken down and worn in public.</p><p>Lou’s thumbs skated down the front of his trousers, not finding the jeans pockets they were accustomed to hooking into.  “Sorry, Mister M-“  His lips froze, parted.  “Sorry.”</p><p>Suspicion trailed icy fingers up Draco's spine.  The Squibs still had enough Wizarding connections to attract his own attention.  Maybe he wasn't the only non-Muggle they'd snared.</p><p>"Who are you?"  He swirled the Chardonnay, idly watching the man fidget.  It was a good fidget, as far as fidgets went.</p><p>"Uhm.  I'm Lou.  I'm your waiter."</p><p>"Mm hm."  Draco took a tentative sniff of the wine.  Not terrible.  "You know me."</p><p>"I-  Kind of?"  Lou stammered, eyes fixed on the side of the room.  His hand crept up the opposite arm as his mouth opened and closed, but remained quiet.</p><p>"What's your last name?"</p><p>Lou sighed, soft and deep, and hugged his elbows.  His gaze drifted to the table in front of Draco.  A proper little grovel.</p><p>"Weasley."</p><p>Draco's lips froze on the edge of the glass, and he stared at the fingerprints across the rim.  A bloody Weasley.  It was bad enough that Ronald Bellend Weasley, the Ministry's least competent Auror, kept trying to get the force to raid Malfesium.  But now they'd <i>weaseled</i> their way into <i>Le Néflier</i>, as well.  Order of the Phoenix veterans in his Dark Arts and desserts sanctuary.  Sublime.</p><p>"Louis," Draco said against the cool glass.  "William and Fleur's."</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>"I simply cannot escape your family, Louis."</p><p>Draco ventured a sip of the wine and was pleasantly surprised.</p><p>"Yeah, that's kind of why I work here.  Nobody asks me about Aurors or Veelas or dragons.  Just the menu."  Lou released his elbows and shoved a hand in his pocket.  "Oh!  Menu!  Here you go!"  He tossed a folded piece of cardstock on the table.  The week's draft prix fixe.</p><p>Draco's frown smoothed as he spread the paper out.  A Mediterranean theme this week.  Maybe the Chardonnay wasn't such a terrible selection, after all.  Scallops and briam, swordfish and lemon potatoes, and horiátiki salata with more fucking feta.</p><p>"Could you, like, not tell people I work here, Mister M-"  Lou stopped, teeth digging into the flesh of his bottom lip as he hesitated.  "Mister Malfoy?"</p><p>"I won't tell if you don't," Draco muttered, noting he'd already lost thirty minutes of his afternoon.  "But I'm a bit curious why I shouldn't."</p><p>Lou glanced back at the door and stepped up to the table, standing across from Draco.  His fingertips rested lightly on the polished wood, gripping and releasing against the surface.</p><p>"They think I work for Muggles, not Squibs, and I know it's not a huge difference, but I just couldn't do it," he rambled, gaze intent on Draco, watching for a reaction.  "They brag about it all the time, that their grandson has a Muggle job, with a Muggle boss, and Muggle clients, and Muggle money, and Muggles, Muggles, Muggles."</p><p><i>Interesting</i>, Draco thought.  <i>'Grandson', not son.</i></p><p>"Your parents don't boast, though.  Not your mother, anyway."</p><p>"No, her family's not-"  Lou stuffed his hands back in his pockets and wiped sweaty palms against the lining.  "They're not like that."</p><p>"Oh, I know.  Astoria and your Aunt Gabrielle were quite fast friends when we were in Bordeaux.  They were pregnant at the same time.  Bit of a bonding experience, I suppose."  Draco took another slow sip, thinking.  "You take after the Delacours more in political leanings?"</p><p>"Uhm, yeah, I guess so," Lou murmured.  "You went to <i>L'École de Élément Flamel</i> in Bordeaux, right?"</p><p>"Mm hm," Draco hummed, a bit surprised to find the bottom of his glass.  This wouldn't end well on an empty stomach.  "Bring the first two courses at the same time.  And ask Richard if he's bought stock in a feta producer or if he just has a feta fetish."</p><p>Lou snorted a soft laugh as he nodded.  Clear blue eyes regarded Draco carefully as Lou's grin softened, but lingered.  He wet his lips, and his eyes roved over Draco's fingers holding the delicate stem of the wine glass, up his arm, slowed to take in his shoulders, and gradually made their way to his face.  Quiet heat and an edge of challenge burned in his eyes as he turned and left.</p><p>Draco refilled his glass and blew out a long breath as the door clicked shut.  It <i>would</i> take Veela genetics to create an attractive Weasley.</p><p><i>Tempus.</i> 2:43 PM</p><p>Draco unrolled the two scrolls he expected to consume his afternoon, and compared translations of procedures and ingredients.  Something thunked against the door, and the knob clattered before turning.</p><p>Lou carried two plates in one hand, the bottom of one resting on the swordfish filet on the other.  In the other hand, he held a mobile that he was sliding back into his pocket.  He slowly swung the door shut with the tip of one shoe, pivoting in balance with the plates to softly close the door with a quiet <i>snick</i>.  <i>Bit of an impressive move</i>, Draco thought.</p><p>"Alright, swordfish," Lou said, setting the plate on the lacquered wood, "and some grilled vegetable thing."</p><p>The second plate landed on the corner of a scroll, and Draco winced before tipping it up and sliding it off.  A perfect, permanent crescent of fish oil marred the parchment.</p><p>"Oh, shit.  Sorry."  Lou leaned over and tried to wipe the mark off the scroll with his cuff, but only succeeded in smearing it and staining his shirt.  </p><p>His gaze drifted across the scrolls, and Draco drew a sharp breath.  Rolling it back up would look suspicious, and the odds of a waiter being able to read it were next to none.  If the Weasley apostate wanted to pretend, who was Draco to stop him?</p><p>"I think that would work better if you substituted Veela hair for the Abraxan," Lou murmured, eyes flicking back and forth between the scrolls.</p><p>"<i>What?</i>" Draco hissed, fork poised over the swordfish.</p><p>Earnest blue eyes blinked up at him, and Lou shrugged, stiff white fabric tugging over solid shoulders.  "I liked Runes.  Only 'Outstanding' I ever got."</p><p>"Then don't presume to tell me how to brew potions, if you couldn't even get marks in that."  </p><p>Draco took a tentative bite of the swordfish and hummed in approval.  They'd obviously hired someone new for the grill.</p><p>He washed it down with a sip, and turned back to the mouthy Potions failure.  "And I already tried Veela hair.  Spectacular failure."</p><p>"Where do you get your Veela hair?"</p><p>"The fucking Veela salon.  How the hell should I know."</p><p>"Ah, that's probably why."</p><p>Lou stood and reached for the deplorable <i>man-bun</i> on the back of his head.  His shirt pulled up at the sides, out of his trousers, and exposed small slivers of his waist.  Firm, golden-tan skin between the black and white of stiff formal clothing.  Draco took a steadying breath and watched as dark amber curls fell around his shoulders.  He shook them out and ran his fingers over the bouncy mass, teasing out a few stray hairs.</p><p>He held out a fist with several strands in it.  "Here."</p><p>Draco scoffed around a bite of fish before swallowing.  "You're, what, one-eighth Veela?  These are worthless."</p><p>Lou scoffed back and laid the strands down on the parchment.  "I've thrown fire at my sisters on multiple occasions.  Veela enough.  And most Veela use straightening spells, which make potions backfire.  I use Muggle products.  It also matters how you <i>get</i> the Veela hair."</p><p>Draco's flat stare didn't whither him as much as he'd hope, so Lou continued.  "You can't use Veela hair that was sold for a potion like that.  It has to be freely given.  The intention matters."</p><p>The swordfish was fucking majestic.  And gone.  The vegetables were fine.  Under-seasoned.  The staff was... interesting.</p><p>"Good bit of knowledge for not getting an 'O' in potions," Draco muttered, pushing the plates toward him.</p><p>"Uh... I didn't realize till after exams that I was shedding arm hairs into the cauldron and messing them all up.  I'm still not sure if I actually did poorly or not," Lou muttered sheepishly.  "I wanted to go to <i>L'École de Élément Flamel</i>."</p><p>"Seems like an explanation and a letter of recommendation from one of their more prosperous alumni might grease the wheels, hm?"</p><p>Lou's eyes lit up.  "<i>Really?</i>"</p><p>"If it works, I'll send a letter."  Draco shrugged, hiding his own reflected excitement.  A Veela Potioneer would be an immense asset to the less-reputable corners of the potion industry. </p><p>"<i>Really?!</i>"</p><p>"Mm hm," Draco hummed around the lip of his glass and tried to not stare at the hard nipples pressing against the fitted white shirt in front of him.</p><p>"Oh, wow.  That would be amazing!  I just figured it was impossible after I bombed Potions at Hogwarts."</p><p>Puzzle pieces slowly fit themselves together in his head as Lou stacked the plates.  Scorpius was probably about the same age as this man.  And he'd briefly mentioned a Hufflepuff a year older than him who was terrible in Potions.</p><p>"You know my son."</p><p>Lou halted, mid-turn toward the door.  "Yeah, he, uhm, helped me quite a bit, actually."</p><p>"I'm a little disappointed he didn't figure out you were tainting your potions."</p><p>"Oh, no, not with potions.  Other things."</p><p>"Hm.  Don't bring that feta catastrophe in here next."</p><p>"Right," Lou murmured, sorting his fingers through his hair and winding it back up.</p><p>Draco watched the unruly curls being strangled into submission and frowned.</p><p>"Hair down, Louis."</p><p>His fingers froze and drifted down to his sides, eyes wide.  "Okay.  Mister Malfoy."</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <b><strike>Abraxan hair</strike> Veela hair, Angel’s Trumpet, Camphirated Spirit, and a touch of Squill bulb.</b>
</p><p>
  <b><strike>Abraxan hair</strike> Veela hair, <strike>Angel’s Trumpet</strike> Scarab Beetle, Camphirated Spirit, and a touch of Squill bulb.</b>
</p><p>
  <i>Swordfish, lemon, cumin.  Coriander.  Why?  Compliment the new grillardin.  A little.</i>
</p><p>
  <b><strike>Abraxan hair</strike> Veela hair, Angel’s Trumpet, <strike>Camphirated Spirit</strike> Salamander Blood, and a touch of Squill bulb.</b>
</p><p>
  <b><strike>Abraxan hair</strike> Veela hair, Angel’s Trumpet, Camphirated Spirit, and a <strike>touch</strike> liberal dose of Squill bulb.</b>
</p><p>
  <i>Scallops, bell pepper, shallot.  Capers.  Substitute capers for salt-cured olives.</i>
</p><p>
  <b><strike>Abraxan hair</strike> Veela hair, Angel’s Trumpet, Camphirated Spirit, and a touch of <strike>Squill bulb</strike> Pritcher’s Porritch.</b>
</p><p>
  <b><strike>Abraxan hair</strike> Veela hair, <strike>Angel’s Trumpet, Camphirated Spirit</strike> Ptolemy and Mallosweet, and a touch of Squill bulb.</b>
</p><p>
  <i>Summer squash, zucchini, aubergine, onions, oregano, garlic, rosemary.  This would have been superb if you hadn't added the herbs on top as an afterthought.</i>
</p><p>
  <b><strike>Abraxan hair</strike> Veela hair, Angel’s Trumpet, <strike>Camphirated Spirit, and a touch of Squill bulb</strike> Lacewing Fly.</b>
</p><p>
  <i>Service was questionable.</i>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Coronary on a Plate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Veelas don't accept payment.</p><p>Potioneers don't pick up hints.</p><p>Except for when they do.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Tempus</em>. 1:58 PM</p><p><em>Tempus</em>.  1:59 PM</p><p><em>Temp</em>-</p><p>"Did it work?!" </p><p>The heavy door burst open in a flurry of excitement, honey-blonde curls, and a bottle of wine brandished like a mace.  Lou's cheeks were pink, as if he'd sprinted up from the basement, which, perhaps he had.  It wasn't called a wine cellar without reason.</p><p>Draco looked up from a short scroll.  "Did what-"</p><p>"The hair!" Lou exclaimed, rushing up to the table and leaving the door open.  "Did it work?"</p><p>Draco leaned around him to glare at anyone looking into the private dining room.  "Yes.  Do be quiet, Louis."</p><p>"I knew it would," he whispered entirely too loudly.</p><p>Draco fought a soft smile.  Potioneers seldom showed outward enthusiasm.  He drew a small velvet pouch from his trousers and set it on the table.  Coins clinked softly inside the thick fabric.</p><p>"I sent a letter to Bordeaux yesterday, and here are your earnings."</p><p>"Merlin's <em>tits</em>, that's so-" Lou froze, staring at the pouch. "Earnings?"</p><p>"Earnings.  Supply fee.  Call it what you will."  He dismissed the objection with a wave and spread scrolls out, using cutlery as paperweights.</p><p>The young man's face dropped, excitement fading, and Draco frowned in confusion.</p><p>"Mister Malfoy, you can't-"  Lou grimaced slightly as he set the wine down and deftly uncorked it.  "You can't pay a Veela.  It invalidates the magic of the gift."</p><p>Draco scoffed and watched wine slosh sloppily up the edges of the glass.  A dry red, by the look and smell, and he realized he hadn't inspected at the bottle before allowing it to be opened.</p><p>"You're saying if you accepted a mere fifty Galleons, my client's potion would stop working?"</p><p>"A mere <em>fifty Galleons</em>?"  Lou shook his head in disapproval, curls swinging softly over his shoulders.  "The amount is irrelevant, but yes.  It would.  Freely-given."</p><p>Draco plucked the over-full glass of wine from the table and drew a deep breath.  Today's fare would be heavy.  A proper Merlot.  An <em>excellent</em> Merlot, he decided with a slow sip.</p><p>"So, then, Lou," he stated dryly. "What if I took one off your clothing?"</p><p>Lou’s breath stopped and his lips softly parted.  The tip of his tongue wet his bottom lip as he hesitated.</p><p>"Really?  I didn't-"  Cornflower-blue eyes drifted up from Draco's wine-dark lips, dazed.  "Wait, what?"</p><p>Draco smirked as Lou took a moment to properly process the question.  After another sip, the poor man didn't seem to be making any progress.</p><p>"If someone found one of your hairs, Louis, would they be able to use it for a potion?  Or does the act matter?"</p><p>"Oh!  It's like a boon or a favor.  If I want you to have it, it works," he replied in a nervous rush.  One hand jammed into his pocket and yanked out a crumpled prix fixe menu, and he smoothed it between clammy palms before setting it on the table.</p><p>"Pity Veelas don't seem keen on taking in return," Draco murmured absently.</p><p>His eyes scanned the menu while a Weasley choked on his tongue, turned on his heel, and hastily slammed the door behind him.</p><p>Filet, lobster, and hollandaise on the same tasting menu.  Richard was trying to give him a heart attack.  But there were worse ways to go.  He looked up to examine the wine bottle, but found it missing.  Likely carried off by a flustered Veela.</p><p> </p><p><em>Tempus.</em>  2:45 PM</p><p><em>Tempus</em>.  2:53 PM</p><p>Draco considered trying to lick the last stubborn drop out of the bottom of the glass, but the rattle of the doorknob saved him from the indignity.  It swung open softly, as if in protest, and Lou padded in like a shamed Crup; eyes downcast, open bottle in one hand, and a tray on the other.</p><p>"Sorry," he whispered.  He set the bottle down gently and lined up three small plates to Draco's right, just to the edge of the scrolls. </p><p>Draco finished reading a line before looking up, stopping to mark is place with the feather end of a quill.  Lou's color was high and his lips were swollen and slick.  The tops of his thighs rested against the table opposite Draco, and his trousers pulled tight over his groin as he leaned forward to refill the glass. </p><p>"Sorry these are late," Lou murmured.  "I got, uhm, called away."</p><p>Draco's gaze lingered on the bulge before him, and he fought the urge to trace it with the soft tip of the quill.  <em>No</em>, he chastised himself, this man had been in school with his <em>son</em>.</p><p>Lou cleared his throat, and Draco looked up to find Louis watching him quietly.  Draco wasn't certain, but Lou may have leaned forward.  Just a touch.  Just enough to tug the fabric of his trousers tighter.</p><p>"No matter," Draco replied, looking away to examine the portion of filet, a croquette, and ratatouille.  More than a little uninspired for Richard.  "You mentioned Scorpius helped you with something other than Potions.  Arithmancy?"</p><p>"Uhm, no.  Nothing academic."</p><p>"Certainly not Quidditch," Draco said with a wry smile.  He cut through the croquette with the side of his fork and sighed in resignation.  It was a damned masterpiece of deep-fried potato, and he couldn't deny it.  "Scorp is many things, but an athlete isn't one of them."</p><p>"No, it was-" Lou's breath hitched, and his palms ran down his thighs.  "More of a personal issue."  He shook his head, curls bouncing.  "Not an <em>issue</em>, just a... thing.  When I was a Seventh Year."</p><p>Draco nodded and watch steam curl from the inside of the damnably-beautiful, golden brown snowball of potato in front of him.  Lou's seventh year would have been Scorpius's sixth year.  The Malfoys' first full year with their feet back under them. </p><p>Astoria had finally, mercifully passed on after painful years abed.  Draco had been outed by the Daily Prophet.  The death threats and sexual advances had been an awkward minefield to navigate.  It turned out that cultural integration with Muggles had led to a strong dislike of gay wizards in many otherwise progressive circles.</p><p>"He certainly went through quite a bit his fifth year," Draco acknowledged.  The first bite of croquette crackled between his molars, then melted into a sublime emulsion of potato and béchamel.  He fought back a pleased moan.  Goddamned Squibs.  Louis was watching him intently, as if waiting.  "Scorp's mother passed the year before.  Did you lose someone?"</p><p>"No," Lou said, just above a whisper.  He glanced behind him at the closed door.  "I, uhm... I came out.  Scorp was the first person I told.  Because of you."</p><p>Draco chewed his next bite very, very slowly.  It somehow tasted like air, not the decadent experience he'd expected.  In fact, he decided he'd rather not continue tasting it at all, and washed it down with three consecutive swallows of wine.</p><p>"And I assume you talked to Scorp about it instead of your many Weasley cousins, because..."</p><p>Lou looked down at the table, but didn't seem to be eager to read Draco's scrolls this time.  His fingers rested lightly on the polished wood, pressing and drawing back in a slow pattern.  Draco watched Lou's fingertips blanche and flush with the motion.</p><p>"The Weasleys are very accepting," he whispered.  "Except for that.  Charlie doesn't come home for a reason."</p><p>Draco hummed in agreement.  "And a gay <em>Veela</em>.  How does that work?"</p><p>"Very, very quickly for them, and very, very poorly for me," Lou blurted, eyebrows raised in sudden introspection.</p><p>"Was that a joke?" Draco asked incredulously.</p><p>It earned him a nearly-pained smile.  "Only if you laugh."</p><p>Draco huffed a breath into his wine glass and pulled it away.  "My condolences."</p><p>Lou shrugged, one-shouldered and defeated as he turned to leave.  "Occlumens are immune to it, but rather rare."</p><p>The last bite of croquette hovered on fork tines against Draco's bottom lip.  Lou's gaze lingered a moment on Draco's fork.  He drew a shallow breath, turned, and left the room.</p><p> </p><p><em>Tempus</em>.  3:24 PM</p><p><em>Tempus</em>.  3:27 PM</p><p>Draco stacked the empty plates and scribbled a few notes in the margins of a scroll.  This potion skirted the boundaries of even his own loose morality.  It was unlikely to lead to legal action, at least.  Well, solid evidence, anyway.</p><p>The doorknob rattled, and he covered his notes with his burgundy cloth napkin.  No reason to invite spying.</p><p>A wide grin and flushed cheeks greeted him, plates held aloft.  "Alba truffle risotto, and-" Lou glanced at the second shallow bowl in his other hand, "more risotto?"</p><p>Lou's fly was down, and Draco bit back a wry grin.  "I believe that was supposed to be a leek soup, but never mind.  Richard's soups are always fine, and his risotto is worth a second helping."</p><p>"Oh, well, happy coincidence, then."  Lou set the identical dishes down in front of him, eyes wandering over Draco's scrolls.  "What are you working on now?"</p><p>"It's a bit more confidential than than the last," Draco murmured, spreading his napkin out over his notes.</p><p>Lou hovered over the table, head cocked to the side, eyes flicking over the scrolls.  "Looks like a lust potion."</p><p>Panic laced through Draco's chest, but his face was carefully neutral.  Lust potions, true lust potions, carried a significant risk of an Azkaban sentence.</p><p>Lou stepped around to the side of the table, intent on Draco's scrolls. </p><p>"May I?" he asked, fingers hovering over the napkin.  Draco nodded, and Lou continued reading.  Taking up his spoon, Draco watched him.  He should have been horrified by the prospect of a less-than-consensual lust potion, but his brow furrowed in thought.</p><p>"Is the goal sex, love, or procreation?" Lou asked vacantly, and Draco wondered if he was even speaking to be heard.</p><p>He scooped up a thick spoonful of risotto and cleared his throat.  "An heir, in this case.  Older couple.  Quite nearly too old, but too wealthy to be dissuaded."</p><p>Draco's gaze lingered on Lou's open flies as his zip spread open to provide a glimpse of tight red briefs. </p><p>"Huh," Lou huffed.  "You could fix this one with Veela hair, too.  But not a regular gift."</p><p>"Oh, <em>bollocks</em>," Draco blurted, tearing his eyes from the other man's... well, bollocks.  "My potioneers have tried everything."</p><p>"You don't need a lust potion, though," Lou said, stacking plates and stepping back around across from Draco.  "You need a fertility potion.  Getting a couple old geezers to fuck like teenagers won't get them pregnant."  Lou smiled to himself as he topped off Draco's wine, and Draco found himself starting to smile back.</p><p>"And Veela hair makes everyone flight-capable and fertile, then, does it?" Draco asked sardonically.</p><p>Lou turned to leave, but treated him to a half-smile that hinted at entirely too many secrets.  "Free Veelas grant flight.  Veelas in... other states... can grant other properties."</p><p>The door hushed shut behind him, and Draco flipped the spoonful of risotto upside-down and popped it in his mouth.  Bloody perfect.</p><p> </p><p><em>Tempus</em>. 4:25 PM</p><p><em>Tempus</em>. 4:27 PM</p><p>There was no way Draco would actually be able to eat the remaining courses before 5:00.  The Weasley was proving to somehow be more adept yet less professional than last week.  And <em>distracted</em>.  Or <em>distracting</em>, perhaps.</p><p>Forty minutes late, the door swung open just enough for Lou to slip through, plates in hand.  Lou's lips were swollen and spit-slick again, and he filled out the front of his trousers exceptionally well.  Draco hoped his observations were gathered unnoticed.</p><p>"Sorry," he muttered again as he set the plates down. "I got-"</p><p>"Mm hmm.  Called away again?"  Draco leg his gaze linger on the man's pink cheeks.  "To the walk-in refrigerator with a coworker, I presume."</p><p>The last plate clunked heavily onto the table as Louis startled.  He collected himself with a deep breath and cleared his throat.  He stacked the empty plates carefully and refilled Draco's glass.</p><p>"I do apologize," he murmured, blue eyes drifting up to meet Draco's, "Mister Malfoy."</p><p>Draco licked his lips and leaned back, taking in Lou's overall state.  Aroused, definitely.  But why?  Tryst with a coworker between courses, or Draco's presence?</p><p>"So," Draco said shortly, "are your Muggle colleagues here... to your satisfaction?"</p><p>"Uhm, generally speaking, no.  Not-"  Lou's gaze flicked back and forth between Draco's face and his scrolls nervously.  "No, but they are, uhm, engaging, I suppose."</p><p>"Pity," Draco said distractedly.  </p><p>Draco sighed heavily.  "Tell them to wrap the dessert, and I'll just take it to the lab with me."</p><p>Lou was silent in front of him, merely leaning against the table, fingertips resting on the stacked plates.  Draco hazarded a glance upward to find the young man flushed, flustered, and floundering to speak.  His trousers outlined a rather solid erection, and he had to wonder if Lou had chosen to stand as such.</p><p>"Lab," Lou blurted, all but stammering under Draco's scrutiny.</p><p>"Mm hm," Draco hummed, eyebrows raised. </p><p>"Best wrap up it up if you'd like me to take it, Louis."</p><p>Plates clinked as his hand froze, holding them aloft over the table. </p><p><em>"What?"</em> Lou whispered.</p><p>Draco bit his lip, sent a quick prayer to Merlin, an apology to Scorpius, and a scathing epitaph to the Weasley clan as his hand moved.  Slowly, deliberately, he let the whisper-thin end of his quill trace over the smooth fabric of Lou's trouser front. </p><p>Base to tip, round back again.  Draco watched the imperceptible touch, fascinated by his own movement.  Above him, Lou froze as he watched, embarrassment and eagerness chasing each other's tails across his face.  His lips parted and breath hitched as the tip of the feather skimmed a path around the sensitive head of his cock.  An eager, somewhat disappointed whimper fell from him as Draco withdrew the quill.</p><p>"The dessert," Draco said dryly, "a Parisian flan?"</p><p>Lou watched him, slack-jawed and panting.  Draco bit back a wicked grin at the much more pronounced bulge concealed before him.</p><p>"Oh," Lou whispered, and swallowed thickly.  "Yeah."</p><p>"I'll take it with me."</p><p>"Right."</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Aconite, Jobberknoll feather, Lady's Mantle, Niffler's Fancy, <strike>Porcupine quill</strike> <em>Veela hair (collection method?)</em></strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Risotto was excellent, per usual.  The new grillardin is earning his keep.  Service was... piqued.</em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Vintages and Pairings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lou isn't begging.  He's not.<br/>Draco's not going to make him.  He's not.<br/>Nevermind.  They are.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Tempus</em>.  2:15 PM<br/><em>Tempus</em>.  2:18 PM</p>
<p>Draco unrolled a single scroll and arranged his empty wine glass and silverware around the edges as paperweights.  No sounds penetrated the room's heavy door.  The silence was a heavy, guilty thing.</p>
<p>Had it been too far last week?  With the quill?  Surely he'd have heard from the Squibs or his solicitor if it had.  Or at least a Howler from the Weasley clan.  But no, nary a word.</p>
<p>It was tempting to get up and leave the room to suss out the reason for the delay, but truth be told, he'd rather Apparate from the attached restroom.  Seeking out his server felt like begging, and that would simply-</p>
<p>"Hi..." a hoarse voice croaked as the door eased open.</p>
<p>Lou, or a disheveled mess representing him, sauntered into the room, loose-limbed and lazy-grinned.  His shirt was half-untucked, his hair a frizzy mess, and if Draco didn't know better, he'd swear the man had something sparkly smeared over one cheek bone.</p>
<p>"Sorry," Lou muttered, extending a bottle with one hand and prix fixe menu with the other.  "I overslept."</p>
<p>Draco fought to keep his <em>I'm not mad, son, I'm disappointed</em> expression off his face.  "I'm sure you had an acceptable reason, Louis."</p>
<p>He turned the bottle to show Draco the label and waited for his nod of approval before uncorking it.  A rather young Condrieu.  Possibly not in the bottle long enough, even.</p>
<p>"Birthday last night," Lou muttered.</p>
<p>Draco hummed in acknowledgement and took a slow sip from his glass.  Tart to the point of nearly astringent, but nicely floral in the nose.</p>
<p>"Uhm," Lou stammered, shifting his weight uneasily, "I slipped in the side door, so if you could, like, not tell Richard..."</p>
<p>Spinning the stem of the glass between his fingers, Draco bit the inside of a lip in consideration.  Going out on the pull on a Monday night wasn't terribly responsible.  But he had been extraordinarily helpful with the flight potion.</p>
<p>"Perhaps you'd like to make a deal, Louis."</p>
<p>Lou leaned over to smooth the crumpled menu out, and Draco inhaled a heavy whiff of stale cigarettes and beer.  He glanced up, and caught Lou wetting his lips, gaze intent on Draco.</p>
<p>"What kind of deal," Lou whispered, "Mister Malfoy?"</p>
<p>Straightening, Lou held his gaze as he slowly, too slowly, slid a hand down his shirt buttons.  Draco hid a short gasp in his wine glass as Lou's fingers disappeared into his trousers.  With a sly grin, he slid his palm around his side, tucking his shirt in as he went.</p>
<p>Cheeky little bastard.  Draco cleared his throat and prayed the flush he felt creeping up his chest stopped below his collar. </p>
<p>"I will not tell the Squibs, if you enlighten me as to the Veela hair collection method you mentioned.  I used the last of your hair on my fertility potion, and it failed."</p>
<p>It had more than failed, he admitted to himself.  The test subject had been lucky to survive.  Draco picked up the menu and glanced down it.  Middle Eastern fare?  The Squibs were having a mid-life crisis in that kitchen.</p>
<p>"I-" Lou started, but faltered and merely stared at him, lip between his teeth and fingertips lingering behind his waistband in the back.  "Yeah, I wasn't, uhm, in the right-"</p>
<p>Lou exhaled heavily, shoulders slouching as his eyes wandered to Draco's scrolls.  "The right what, Louis?"</p>
<p>"Uhm, the right... frame of mind," he replied warily.  "You know?  For a <em>fertility</em> potion?"</p>
<p>With a disinterested shrug, Draco shook his head softly and flicked the menu at Lou.  "Do enlighten me if your disposition becomes amenable, then.  In the mean time, I suppose bring out the first tahini-laced abomination."</p>
<p>Lou's palms skated nervously down his shirtfront, and he nodded quickly, topped off Draco's glass, turned, and left.</p>
<p><em>Frame of mind</em>, Draco thought to himself with a huff.  Superstitious nonsense.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Tempus</em>. 2:50 PM</p>
<p>On time, for once, Lou re-entered the room, fresh bottle in one hand and a sloppy structure of hummus and pita on a plate in the other.  No, not just a structure.  The bloody Sydney Opera House in curved triangles of flatbread, anchored on a bed of hummus, ringed in a cucumber, onion, and tomato salad.</p>
<p>He set the bottle down and turned the label toward Draco.  "I had them hold the feta," he said as he set the plate down next to Draco's scroll.</p>
<p>Draco glanced at the second bottle; the same as the first, but a few years older.  Nabbing a dab of hummus on the corner of a piece of pita, he took a bite, chewed slowly, and washed it down.  The garlic of the hummus mixed with green floral notes in the white wine, and the tart tang of the wine chased the light slickness of olive oil across his tongue.  Perfect.</p>
<p>"Hm, you needn't have brought a second bottle, Louis."</p>
<p>A half-smile forced itself across his lips.  "You frowned when you read the year.  I thought you might want something more mature."</p>
<p>"I did, but this is unexpectedly good."</p>
<p>Lou's smile grew to a full grin.  "I suppose the vintage is irrelevant if the pairing is good, then."</p>
<p>A drop of olive oil slid down the mound of hummus on the pita in Draco's hand, hovering over the table.  It fell with an audible pat onto his scroll, and he blinked slowly.</p>
<p>"I suppose so."</p>
<p>Reaching into his pocket, Lou withdrew a tissue and touched a corner of it to the droplet of olive oil on the parchment.  It wicked cleanly up, leaving a faint outline in its wake.  Draco bit through the pita, chewing slowly again.</p>
<p>Movement sure, Lou refilled Draco's glass with a furtive glance up at him.  Lou swallowed thickly and his lips parted, breath drawn to speak, but he faltered on the verge of words.  With a sigh and quiet frown, he smiled tightly at Draco, turned, and left.</p>
<p>Draco's heartbeat thundered in his chest.  What the bloody hell was he doing?  What were <em>they</em> doing?</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Tempus</em>. 3:20 PM.</p>
<p>The doorknob turned silently, and the door hushed open over the thick carpet.  Draco's knife lay across a line of Runes, and he squinted at the line above them with one eye, then the other.  Preposterous fucking nonsense.  Six-hundred year-old preposterous nonsense, granted.</p>
<p>"Still working on the fertility potion?" Lou croaked.</p>
<p>Draco's gaze snapped up at him, expecting to see tears.  Instead, Lou's rather piqued, slightly green-tinged face regarded him.  The man looked like he was ready to sick up right on the parchment.</p>
<p>"Steady on there, Weasley," Draco chided.</p>
<p>"Mm hm," Lou hummed.  He halted at the edge of the table, roughly deposited a plate of falafel, turned on his heel, and hot-footed it to the adjoined restroom.</p>
<p>Out of the corner of his eye, Draco noticed one of the golden, fried balls roll off the plate.  He glared at it as it obediently rolled to a stop just before touching his scroll.  It crunched loudly as he speared it with a fork, but not nearly loudly enough to cover the sound of Lou retching into the toilet.</p>
<p>The soundtrack really should have detracted from the cuisine, but it truly did not, Draco thought.  Last week's croquettes had to have been a test run for the falafel.  Soft, fluffy, dough in a crisp shell, spices and herbs in perfect compliment.  He washed it down with a sip and hummed appreciatively.</p>
<p>Fine pairing, vintage be damned, he mused.</p>
<p>Lou cleared his throat in the restroom doorway and straightened his collar.  Draco flicked his empty fork toward him, then the door to the main room.  "I assume you'll be heading home, then."</p>
<p>"Nah.  I'm not sick.  The hangover potion I took before bed wore off."</p>
<p>"You have but to ask.  I brew a sixteen-hour version with a dash of Pepper-up."</p>
<p>"Yeah, I know.  That's what I bought."</p>
<p>Draco hesitated, counting the hours backwards with another falafel speared on his fork.  He dipped it in a cup of tahini-lemon sauce for something to do.</p>
<p>"Louis, you managed to get puking drunk by eleven on a Monday night?"</p>
<p>Draco watched him and wondered if Veelas metabolized potions more quickly than humans, and if so, how could that be used in his laboratory.  Possibly using Veela ingredients to reverse potions?  Using Veela test subjects?</p>
<p>Lou shrugged, one-shouldered and dismissive as he crossed the room to collect the half-empty hummus plate.  "Blokes kept buying me drinks, so I kept drinking them."</p>
<p>Draco snorted, amused, and took a bite of the sauce-covered falafel.  Goddamn Squibs.  No business combining flavors this perfectly, he thought as he chewed.</p>
<p>"Well, happy belated birthday.  And congratulations on your conquests, I suppose."</p>
<p>Ah, to be young, gay, fit, and drunk, Draco mused to himself.  With a smirk, he noted Lou had wiped most of the glitter off his face at some point, and possibly attempted to smooth his hair down.  A smattering of silver sparkles still caught the light as he stood in front of Draco, lips parted and brow furrowed.  Far too serious.</p>
<p>"I didn't-" Lou started.  "I wouldn't call them conquests," he concluded softly.  "Sure didn't feel like I won."</p>
<p>He certainly sounded defeated.  Not at all like a young man who'd gone out on the town and enjoyed himself.</p>
<p>Choosing his words carefully, Draco spoke.  "Clubs aren't good fit for everyone."</p>
<p>"No," Lou objected, "the setting doesn't matter."</p>
<p>Draco leaned back in his chair, trying to tease out a professional boundary.  It was wildly improper to ask details of his son's classmate.  It was professional curiosity to ask it of a walking Potioneering treasure trove.  It was practically expected between one gay Pureblood and another.</p>
<p>"What happened, Louis?"  He hid his interest behind his wine glass and allowed Lou to formulate a response without his scrutiny.</p>
<p>"They creamed their jeans on the dance floor," Lou whispered, wide-eyed and mostly to himself.  "Like usual."</p>
<p>Draco snorted, coughed, and winced as tart wine burned a path down his windpipe, shot up his nose, and made his eyes water.  Merlin's manhood, his entire airway was on fire.</p>
<p>"Sorry," Lou muttered, nudging the napkin toward Draco.  "I shouldn't have said-"</p>
<p>"It's fine," Draco wheezed, and held up a hand to quiet him.</p>
<p>Lou slouched and unnecessarily topped off Draco's glass for something to do while Draco unsubtly blew his nose in the coarse cloth napkin.</p>
<p>"Stamina potions, <em>even Malfesium's</em>, don't work," Lou said quietly.  His thumbs skated down his trouser fronts in search of pockets, but settled for hooking themselves into his waistband at his hips.  He bit his lip and glared at the table top.  "Not even a triple-dose."</p>
<p>Draco felt his eyebrows raise halfway to his hairline at <em>that</em> admission.  "Louis, that should render a man temporarily impotent.  And should earn him a slap upside the head for letting you talk him into it."</p>
<p>Lou's hand curved around the back of his neck, and a blush bloomed across his cheeks.  "Uhm, I didn't exactly... tell him?"</p>
<p>His jaw fell slack before Draco snapped it shut.  "Well, any wizard worth his dick would have been able to taste it.  The saltpetre wouldn't do beer any favors."</p>
<p>The hand under Lou's curls slid up to scrub over his mouth, up over an eye, and down his cheek.  "Not a wizard.  And not a drink."</p>
<p>Draco's breath shuddered in as the room tilted a bit.  A Muggle.  Louis Weasley, descendant of the Order of the Phoenix, overdosed a Muggle on a sex potion with the intent to fuck him.  Beyond nefarious, even by Malfesium standards.</p>
<p>"It helped a little, I guess," Lou said thoughtfully.  "He did manage to get my trousers open."</p>
<p><em>Karma</em>, he thought.  Karma, or the rule of threes, or just plain old comeuppance.  That's what this was.  Draco Malfoy's own misdeeds had put him in this supremely awkward situation.</p>
<p>Slowly, bits of information fit themselves together as Draco stared vacantly at said trouser front.  His coworkers were "engaging".  He'd "forgotten" to bring Draco the soup off the menu, but wandered into the room with his trousers unzipped.</p>
<p>"You dosed a coworker last week," he stated dryly, no room for argument.  "With the soup."</p>
<p>Lou nodded, head hung in guilty admission.  He bit a lip, eyes darting as he formulated a response.  "Not like he was unwilling."</p>
<p>Draco's fingertips pressed into the tabletop, faint outlines of condensation forming around them on the glossy surface.  Soup would be the perfect cover for a salt-heavy potion.  And the other man obviously had no idea.  And so Louis Weasley had gotten away with one of the most flagrant Statute of Secrecy violations since the war.  It was unethical and brilliant and horrible and cunning.  And a bit impressive.</p>
<p>"And it didn't work, anyway," Lou added.  "Spontaneous cumbustion, and he left me in the walk-in fridge with my dick out."</p>
<p>Draco stifled a chuffed laugh with the mental image of that pitiful reality.  Merlin's muff, would that be discouraging.  His own forays had never been furtive wanks with men at work or in clubs, but at least they'd been mutually satisfying.  Chateaus instead of dance floors, and immense beds instead of... refrigerators.</p>
<p>He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he examined Lou.  The younger man had his hands wrapped around his waist, as if he were trying to hide the shame of other men. </p>
<p>"You said Occlumens are immune," Draco said, leading.</p>
<p>"Yeah," Lou whispered.  His thumbs stroked rhythmic lines along his flanks, and his breath came fast.</p>
<p>"Did your mother tell you that?  I don't recall hearing William Weasley was at all skilled."</p>
<p>Lou shook his head.  "Trial and error."</p>
<p>Draco's thumb rubbed a line along the center of his chin as he considered what kind of trial and error had been undertaken in Louis's search for a good lay.  Or any lay, it sounded like.  He'd dosed a coworker, went on the pull last night, spent most of his time at work last Tuesday in various states of flustered arousal.  His performance last week was entirely unprofessional, but then perhaps so was Draco's reaction.</p>
<p>"I was one of your little trials.  Wasn't I, Louis?" Draco accused.</p>
<p>Dirty blonde curls bounced slightly as Lou nodded, and his hands found the pockets at the hips of his trousers.  One hand dug deep into the pocket, and Draco was fairly sure Lou was adjusting himself inside his pants.</p>
<p>Draco's curiosity was a living, burning thing in the back of his mind.  How did a Veela actively choose a target?  Why would doing so end things so quickly for the target?  What was the evolutionary benefit of <em>that </em>little quirk?  How could the ability be tracked?  Quantified?  Isolated?  Monetized?</p>
<p>"Show me, Louis," he ordered.</p>
<p>Inspired, Draco flipped a scroll over and readied a quill.  Would it be similar to the cranium-sear of Legilimency?  The tingling nervous system override of an Imperius?  A sensory-overwhelming centaur-strength Amortentia?  He licked his lips, eyes on his quill and ready to record the experience.</p>
<p>Instead, all that assaulted him was the sound of a zipper and the rustle of fabric.  He swallowed thickly, noting the sour, fading taste of wine on his tongue.  Surely not.  His eyes bored into the parchment.  No, surely not.  Not here.</p>
<p>The soft, fast slide of skin over skin filled the room, and Draco's eyes drifted up, nearly against his will.  Lou had closed the distance and stood just within arm's reach, right across from him, and lo and behold.  The man was bloody having a wank in the <em>Le Neflier</em> private dining room.  Just... full-on out with it.</p>
<p>Lou's golden tan fist squeezed around a ruddy, almost-hard, not-insubstantial length.  His bottom lip slid slowly out from between his teeth, wet, glistening and swollen.</p>
<p>Draco's mouth clapped shut before he realized he'd been staring open-mouthed.  Slowly, he rolled up his scrolls and slid them into his bag on the floor.  No notes were going to be taken on this subject. </p>
<p>Draco's tongue darted out to wet his lips as sky blue eyes watched him warily.  Lou's apprehension and exhibition was a bit of an enticing combination, he had to admit.  The desperation of it all, really.  To get to the point of unzipping on the job with a schoolmate's father?</p>
<p>"Louis," Draco said quietly.</p>
<p>Hooded eyes regarded him, anxiety giving way to desire as his fist slid along his hard cock.  "Hm?"</p>
<p>"What-" Draco's breath caught at the heat in his gaze.  "What the bloody hell are you doing?"</p>
<p>"Showing you," Lou murmured.  "Drop your barriers."</p>
<p>Draco's breath left in what should have been a scoff, but came out as a heavy pant.  "Never."</p>
<p>"A tiny bit?"</p>
<p>Lou's grip eased, and his fingertips slid his foreskin up over the head of his cock, then slowly back down.  His thumb spread a glistening streak back along the tip, and his skin moving over it made a soft slick sound that went straight to Draco's groin.</p>
<p>Draco swallowed thickly, as if clearing his throat could suppress his own rising arousal.  What was the worst thing that could happen with his mental barriers lowered just a touch?  Louis already knew the nature of his work.  With a long sigh, he rolled his head, stretching his neck, and felt for one of the smallest Occlumency barriers.  An arbitrary one, really.  One that merely hid a few personal preferences from any passing Legilimens.  No harm done if Louis knew how much he truly did detest feta cheese.</p>
<p>"A small one," Draco murmured, and was rewarded with a coy smile from Lou.</p>
<p>The mental wall dropped, and Draco waited.  He'd expected pain or overwhelming desire, but could only detect... a drumbeat?</p>
<p>Yes, a faint, low thudding not unlike a heartbeat, but clearer.  A demanding sharp edge to it.  Scowling, he concentrated on it, bringing the sensation to the front of his mind.  Lou watched him, lips parted as he slowly stroked his length just in front of Draco.</p>
<p>The thudding cadence didn't stay in his head, but melted slowly down his shoulders.  A trickling, liquid pulsing that flowed down his spine to pool in his hips as a writhing, rhythmic urge.  It wanted to move, and it wanted <em>him</em> to move.</p>
<p>The drumbeat thudded at the base of his spine, speeding and prompting an echoing pulse through his cock.  Trapped in his trousers, he was hard, ready, and his fingers had wandered to his fly before he noticed them moving.</p>
<p>"<em>Oh</em>," he whispered.  "Oh, <em>Merlin</em>."</p>
<p>Quickly, he slammed the small barrier back into place, and the drumbeat ceased.  But his own arousal continued, nonetheless.</p>
<p>"Yeah," Lou said.  A scarlet flush inched up his cheeks, and his blue eyes were glassy and unfocused.  "Will you watch?"</p>
<p>Draco willed his breathing to slow and failed.  He tried to quell the throb of his cock against his trousers, and failed at that, as well.  He did, however, succeed in casting a discreet <em>Colloportus</em> at the door.  Lou smirked weakly as the lock clicked.</p>
<p>"I suppose," Draco said shakily.  "Dinner and a show."</p>
<p>Lou's gaze followed Draco's fingers over his own trousers, tracing the outline of his hidden length.</p>
<p>Lou's bottom lip slid out from between his teeth.  "Can I watch you?"</p>
<p>It took a few moments for the timid request to register.  <em>No.  Too far.</em>  Draco's fingertips froze, and he clasped his hands on top of the table.  He shook his head, eyes closed.  "No, Louis."</p>
<p>Disappointment washed over his face, but ebbed under a tide of vacant arousal.  He pressed forward, hips thrusting slightly as his thighs leaned against Draco's table.  His fist sped, nearly a blur as he worked his length. </p>
<p>Draco watched, flushed skin radiating against his shirt as a clear bead dropped from the tip of Lou's cock to land on the polished wood of the table.  Draco's thumb twitched as he stifled the urge to wipe the fluid up, to lick it, savor it, maybe go back for more.</p>
<p>Electric blue eyes under hooded lids watched him.  No, <em>dared</em> him, as Lou wrung another drop out with an eager moan and then dropped his hand to his side.  Chest rising and falling, he watched Draco's indecision.  Lou's cock waited in front of him, heavy and thick, and so, so close.</p>
<p>How long had it been, Draco thought, since he'd been with someone?  Since he'd made a man scream his name?  A few months, at least. </p>
<p>It was too easy.  Too easy to wrap his fingers around that hot length and finish him off.  Too easy and too good, and <em>dear Merlin</em>, too right.</p>
<p>Lou's breath hissed in as Draco gave him a firm squeeze. </p>
<p>"Fuck, yes," Lou whispered, eyes closed.  His hips thrust into Draco's grip, a bit to his surprise.</p>
<p>With a grunt, Lou bucked again and his shoulders leaned forward, hands on the tabletop.  Honey-blonde curls fell, swinging just in front of Draco's face, and he got a whiff of spearmint and the sea before Lou spoke.</p>
<p>"Hair," he said, strained.  "Other hand."</p>
<p>A touch bewildered, Draco slid his other hand along Lou's scalp, into the nest of curls.  His skin was nearly feverish, and the strands sifting between his fingers were like coiled satin.  His elbow rest on the tabletop, holding Lou's face just in front of his own.  Hot breaths traced Draco's lips as Lou fought to stay quiet.</p>
<p>Lou's hand found Draco's where it wrapped around his cock, and he pressed Draco's fist down to the table, holding it tight.  Draco had a moment of confusion before Lou began to move.  The hard length thrust through Draco's fist, fucking it where it sat pinned against the table.</p>
<p>Catching on, Draco grinned and tightened his grip on Lou's hair, and was rewarded with a soft growl and challenging glare.</p>
<p>"Randy little Huffleslut, aren't you?" Draco murmured, holding Lou's gaze, nearly nose-to-nose.</p>
<p>Lou whined through gritted teeth as he fucked Draco's fist, hair held tight.</p>
<p>"Finally get to come for me, Weasley?"</p>
<p>"<em>Fuck, fuck, fuck,</em>" Lou panted between thrusts.</p>
<p>"Not yet."</p>
<p>Lou's groan turned into a needy sob as his hips stuttered and lost their rhythm.  Draco tightened his grip and worked his fist over the sensitive head of Lou's cock.</p>
<p>"Please." His face broke into a begging plea. "Please, please, please."</p>
<p>Draco licked his lips and Lou did the same.  Lou lurched forward, but Draco turned, and Lou's lips landed on Draco's cheek.  He whimpered, a helpless little sound, against Draco's jaw.  The table under Draco's elbow shook with the thrust of Lou's hips, and their heads swayed together.</p>
<p>Draco's lips found Lou's earlobe, and he gave it a small nip.  "Come, Lou."</p>
<p>Rasping breaths against Draco's cheek made goosebumps run down his body, and his own hips tensed as Lou's hips hitched and froze.  With a deep, guttural groan that shook his chest, Lou came in erratic, jerking thrusts into Draco's fist.  Slick lines flung across the table, white against the dark wood.</p>
<p>"Good boy," Draco murmured, stroking his thumb along Lou's temple, fingers still entwined in his hair.  A long, shuddering sigh left Lou as he came down.</p>
<p>Lou's breathing slowed, and Draco carefully released his cock, but not without one last stroke along the oversensitive skin.  Lou grunted into Draco's ear, and his back jerked at the touch. </p>
<p>Soft, warm lips laid unsure kisses along Draco's jaw that made his chest ache curiously. </p>
<p>"Thank you," Lou whispered.  He nuzzled against Draco's cheek and drew a deep breath that flowed into a content sigh.</p>
<p>Draco's lips wanted to press into the stubbled cheek next to his face; wanted to draw him closer, crush their lips together.  But instead, Draco relaxed his grip on Lou's hair and let him drift away.</p>
<p>A bit startled, Lou clapped his hand over Draco's fist and held it to his head.  Slowly, he pulled Draco's closed fist down through the strands, and Draco winced in sympathy as he felt the force of the tugging between his fingers.</p>
<p>Hand still closed around his, Lou pulled his fist free, and a good half-dozen curly strands lingered between Draco's fingers.  Comprehension dawned as Lou released him and leaned back to tuck himself away.</p>
<p>"Those are yours," Lou said with a sedate smile.  He glanced down at the come-streaked table and Draco's messy hand, and spread the cloth napkin out over the whole ordeal with a sheepish, guilty grin.</p>
<p>Draco merely blinked at him and fought the urge to lick his other hand clean.  The hairs were his?</p>
<p>"Oh," Draco said in a sigh.  "The hair.  Oh, right.  Thank-"</p>
<p>"No!" Lou belted as he zipped up.  "Veela shit.  No displays of gratitude on your part, or it won't work.  You have earned a gift from a Veela, to do with what you wish."</p>
<p>"I... Alright.  And this, then?" Draco demonstrably opened and closed his other hand, which was starting to get tacky.</p>
<p>"Well, that's just a handful of jizz, isn't it?"<br/><br/><br/></p>
<p>
  <strong>Aconite, Jobberknoll feather, Lady's Mantle, Niffler's Fancy, <strike>Lou's hair</strike> Veela hair</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>The falafel and Condrieu were a surprise.  Curious pairing.  Quite good, but unorthodox.  Dessert was a bit salty.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Fermented Finery</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Come for the food, stay for the show.<br/>Come for the show, stay for the food.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Tempus.</em>  1:49 PM</p><p>The toe of Draco's shoe scuffed along the grout between the tiles of the private restroom's floor.  Bit ostentatious to put mosaic where the Apparition point was.  Silverware clinked in the adjoining room, and Draco lingered in the restroom.</p><p>He wasn't stalling.  Stalling was for the insecure.  He was... staying out of the way.  Surely Louis would rather set the table without distraction.</p><p>The outer door of the private dining room clicked shut, and Draco sighed.  Something about exiting a restroom to be alone with Lou felt entirely too intimate.</p><p>Scrolls tucked under his arm, he swung the door open.</p><p>"Hi!" chirped an entirely too chipper Weasley.  If he'd had a tail, he'd have been wagging it, Draco thought.</p><p>"Good afternoon," Draco drawled.</p><p>A smallish scroll bounced on the table, rolling to rest next to a much older vellum and wood-spooled piece.  The parchment scroll rebounded, unrolling a few inches, and Lou's eyes fixed on it, chin tilting as he tried to read an exposed line the runes.</p><p>"Thank-" Draco started, but stopped.  "My clients are very pleased, and expect to be expecting in a week."</p><p>Lou hummed, distracted by the scrolls.  His brow furrowed as his eyes flicked over the runes.  He was rather eager.  In the best ways, really.  With a nudge, Draco unrolled the parchment scroll.  Lou's eyes grew wide as he moved to lean over the table.  Draco settled into his chair on the other side of the table and simply watched.</p><p>Veelas had taken up a concerning amount of his time over the last week.  Researching Veela hair.  Reading what was to be found about Veela sexual proclivities.  Thinking about a specific Veela.  Intimately.  Draco drew a slow breath and tried to ignore the man in front of him.</p><p>Lou hummed softly and rested his elbows on the margins of the scroll.  An irrational impulse to lean forward and run his lips up the part in Lou's hair ran through his mind, and he inhaled slowly.  Draco caught a hint of spearmint as Lou's curls fell forward, hiding his face.  The golden light from wall sconces glinted off the rim of each ringlet.  Spun, silken gold.</p><p>Draco swallowed thickly, gaze intent on the faint rise and fall of Lou's flanks.  The furrow of his spine along the muscled length of his back pressed against his white shirt.  Why couldn't he have this?  Why shouldn't he?</p><p>Why the fuck <em>shouldn't</em> he dig his fingers into those curls and drag him-</p><p>"How is this different from a Polyjuice potion?"</p><p>Bright, sapphire eyes rolled up to look at him.  Under the table, Draco scrubbed his hands against his thighs.</p><p>"It's not.  Yet.  There's a Lacewing shortage, so I'm trying to work out a more cost-effective formula."</p><p>Lou's eyes darted side to side, examining Draco's as he fought for what he hoped was an impassive expression.  They were too close, and those soft pink lips were too tempting.</p><p>"I didn't comb my hair this morning," Lou whispered, as if confessions of lapsed hygiene were erotic.  Draco frowned and shook his head softly.  "So you could do it.  You know.  Collect it."</p><p>"Oh," Draco said in a sigh.  "Alright, then."</p><p>Lou's face lowered, hair falling forward in offering.  Spearmint and sea air, then silk strands between Draco's fingers.  Warm satin ribbons that changed to cool, slick coils as Draco's hands slid down.  He worked slowly, carding fingers through Lou's hair, his own lips mere inches from the head in front of him.</p><p>Lou's back rose in a shuddering inhale, and he sighed, head leaning onto one of Draco's hands.  He let the hand still, supporting Lou's head as his other hand combed through ringlets, turning them into a fuzzy halo.</p><p>Why shouldn't he?  Why on earth shouldn't he lean forward to feel him, and smell him, and just <em>have</em> him?  He so obviously wanted to <em>be</em> had.</p><p>Draco's elbow rested on the table, and Lou slid his head in Draco's hand, resting his cheek in Draco's palm.  Out of reasons to dither, Draco pressed his lips to the part in Lou's hair.  His free hand bunched the mess of curls up against Draco's nose, and he drew a deep breath.</p><p>"Gods, you smell good," Draco murmured.</p><p>Spearmint, sea water, and eucalyptus. </p><p>Lou's cheek turned, and his lips grazed the pad of Draco's thumb.  They skimmed the whorl of his thumbprint, almost feverish to the touch.</p><p>Lou whispered, lips nipping down Draco's thumb to the heel of his hand, "You want me."</p><p>Draco's breath froze in his chest, prepared to lie.  But why should he?  "Yes."</p><p>Lou's cheek tensed against Draco's hand in a bitter smile.  "They all want me."  Draco drew another deep breath and waited.  "You <em>like</em> me," Lou said, slowly, warily.</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>Draco ran his thumb over Lou's lips, and he parted them.  His tongue darted out, and that soft skin was suddenly slick under Draco's touch. Slick, and soft, and firm, and eager.  Draco swallowed a groan at the thought of those lips around his cock.</p><p>Lou shifted and set his chin on Draco's palm, and the intoxicatingly-scented curls were replaced by soft scrutiny.  Lou licked his lips again, and his gaze drifted from Draco's eyes down to his lips.</p><p>"Can I kiss you?" Lou whispered.</p><p>Draco drew a breath to refuse, but stopped.  "Why not?"</p><p>He braced himself for Lou to lurch forward and inelegantly smash his mouth to Draco's lips, but was instead treated to a soft, expectant smile.  Lou nuzzled into Draco's hand, laying a chaste peck along the lines of his palm.  His mouth slid up along the groove, a tickling, light touch, and he nipped gently at the skin between Draco's thumb and forefinger. </p><p>Patient.  Tentative.  Unexpected.</p><p>"Louis," Draco said, voice low, "how long do your encounters typically last?"</p><p>Sharp teeth pressed against the sides of his thumb, and Draco's breath hissed in.  Lou's lips wrapped around the digit, and Draco's breath shuddered as his thumb was enveloped in firm, wet heat.  He drew back to glance up at Draco.</p><p>"You hold the top two records."</p><p><em>Two</em> records?  Last week, sure.  But when else?  <em>This?</em>  <em>This</em> was more than he was accustomed to?</p><p>"That can't-"</p><p>His words were stifled; his palm suddenly empty as Lou closed the space between them.  They shifted, mouths meeting a shared sigh.  Draco's hands slid to cup Lou's jaw. He tasted of hot summer rain.  Slowly, delicately, his lips pressed, parted, sought, and Draco allowed him.  </p><p>Lou withdrew first, and Draco licked his own lips, chasing the taste of Lou's mouth on his.</p><p>"Thank you," Lou murmured.  He leaned back and stood, not bothering to hide the tent in his trousers.  "I'll be back with the menu."</p><p>Draco cleared his throat.  "And wine."</p><p>Lou smirked and made for the door, but stopped, turned, and spoke over his shoulder.  "No wine today, I'm afraid."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Temp-</em>
</p><p>Lou entered, a frosted clear bottle with a garish label in one hand, and two shot glasses in the other, menu tucked between them.</p><p>"What the bloody hell is that?"</p><p>Lou grinned wickedly.  "Aquavit."</p><p>"Oh, Circe's slit.  What on earth is wrong with Richard?"</p><p>Draco carefully slid the unrolled vellum scroll to the side, and Lou's eyes tracked it.  If he could decipher 800 year-old runes, Draco was prepared to drink the damn Aquavit in concession.</p><p>"Richard has discovered an international indie streaming service."</p><p>Lou set the shot glasses down and perfunctorily filled them both.  Bit of experience there, Draco thought.</p><p>"I have no idea what any of that means, Louis."</p><p>"He's been watching movies from other countries.  But there are no subtitles, so he has no idea what the films are about.  He just watches for the food."</p><p>The draft menu slid in front of him, and Draco's vision flickered.  He blinked quickly, but it happened again, and he looked up at Lou.</p><p>"It's the wind," he said absently, setting a shot glass in front of Draco, and picking the other up.  "The kitchen was on back-up power when I got here this morning."  He sniffed the Aquavit and tossed it back with a contemplative frown.  Draco watched as his jaw moved, tongue rolling the amber liquid around before swallowing. </p><p>"The power company was supposed to have it sorted by now, but-" The room flickered again, and Draco noticed it was the wall sconce lights, not his vision, that was the issue.  "Maybe not."</p><p>The menu was questionable, at best.  Rye bread and pickled herring, some potato and lingonberry abomination, beet salad, <em>kanelbullar</em>, and <em>hákarl</em>.</p><p>The fumes wafting up from the liquor were reminiscent of a sandwich on fire.  Rye, dill, fennel, and scorching heat.  It burned across his tongue and assaulted his sinuses in an angry herbal rush.  His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth as it dissipated, leaving a faint whiff of anise and cloves in its wake.  Curious.</p><p>Lou watched him mull the Aquavit and poured him a second shot.  Draco waved off the pour, but knew damn well he'd end up drinking it.  Possibly on an empty stomach, if this menu were anything to go by.</p><p>"Louis," Draco drawled, picking up his shot glass, "what are <em>kanelbullar</em> and <em>hákarl?</em>"</p><p>"One is some kind of sweet bread, and the other is a surprise."  Lou's thumb spun the cap back on the bottle.  "I'll be back."</p><p>Draco eyed the shot of Aquavit warily.</p><p> </p><p><em>Tempus.</em> 2:45 pm</p><p>The Aquavit mocked him.  It sat there, slowly vaporizing like the industrial-strength solvent it was.   Any menu that promised to complement it also promised to offend his palate in heretofore unseen ways.</p><p>The door whispered open, and Draco smelled it before he saw it.  The lights flickered again, and a sudden bolt of fear shot up his spine at the idea of being alone in the dark with whatever pungent mess Lou was carrying.  It reeked like a natural disaster.  Like a weeks-ago beached whale that had finally exploded under the pressure of methane buildup in its fetid gut.</p><p>His wand slid easily from his pocket, in full agreement with the fate of this dish.</p><p>Lou set a rather small plate on the table, expression grim.  "So, this is the <em>hákarl.</em>  It's-"</p><p>With a delicate <em>plink</em>, Draco's wand tapped the plate, and it was gone.  Vanished, like all unworthy things.</p><p>"Oh, thank <em>Merlin.</em>  My hero," Lou said with a deep sigh.  "I did not want to vomit at work again."  His empty hand ran fingers through his hair, and an odd, prickling possessiveness shot hot pinpoints down Draco's arms.  Lou's other hand stayed firmly behind his back, but shifted with a soft clink of glass.</p><p>"What <em>was</em> that putrid catastrophe?  And how did Richard slip it past Samuel?"</p><p>Lou winced, and the arm behind his back dropped to his side, a bottle in hand.  The label was bold black and silver print, with some trendy depiction of a tree and lightning bolts.  "Fermented shark.  And I think he bought it off some bloke in an alley."</p><p>"Dug it out of a bin in an alley, perhaps."</p><p>Lou held up the bottle in his hand.  "Peace offering.  It's my fav-"</p><p>Sudden darkness engulfed the room in a sputtering buzz and wink.  Draco blinked against it, but to no avail.  He could have touched his finger to his cornea without seeing it.</p><p>"...favorite mead," Lou drawled.  His clothing rustled, followed by a lid unscrewing and a carbonated hiss.  Draco's wand was still in his hand, and he took a breath before casting, but Lou interrupted him.  "Don't cast a <em>Lumos</em>.  The Muggles will see the light under the door."</p><p>Draco grunted in agreement and pocketed his wand.  The absence of light pressed against him like a physical weight; somehow smothered and adrift at the same time.  As if darkness could drown a man.</p><p>A fizzle and glug sounded from in front of him, and the bottle of mead clunked onto the tabletop, followed by an appreciative hum.  A clingy, floral sweetness flowed through the room; a juxtaposition to the other drink's abrasive spiced astringency.  </p><p>A rustle of fabric, faint footsteps on the plush carpet, the solid press of a leg against his thigh.</p><p>"Louis?"  Draco murmured, swallowing thickly. </p><p>He closed his eyes against the inky blackness of the room, slid down in his chair and tilted his head back.  The leg on the outside of his thigh shifted, and Lou took another swig from the bottle.</p><p>"Mm hm?"</p><p>He could slide his hand up that leg.  He could skim his hand around it, to Lou's inner thigh and press a path up to his groin.</p><p>Draco cleared his throat, still slouched in the chair.  "What are you-"</p><p>Lou shifted away, then Draco was suddenly pinned down to the chair by a warm, solid weight.  He let out a startled <em>oomph </em>as his hands flew up to grab at the man on his lap.</p><p>After a moment of panic, Draco took a slow breath through his nose.  Honey, spearmint, and something floral.</p><p>His hands rubbed along Lou's thighs and settled on his arse.  If anything was an invitation to grope, it was straddling a man's lap, for Merlin's sake.  Rather nice arse, Draco mused.  His thumbs rubbed small circles on the sides of Lou's hips, and he wiggled closer, resting himself over Draco's groin.</p><p>Hands pressed his shoulders against the chair, gentle but firm.  "Can I kiss you?"</p><p>Draco nodded in the darkness, invisible.  "Yes."</p><p>Warm skin grazed his lips, pressed, nipped, opened to him.  Honey, spearmint, and...</p><p>"Mm, lavender?" Draco whispered, pulling back.</p><p>Lou nodded, curls brushing against Draco's cheek.  "Mead made of lavender honey."</p><p>The weight across his thighs leaned away, and Draco's hands slid forward, idly coming to rest at the creases of Lou's groin.  Another gulp from the bottle, and Lou leaned forward, lips against Draco's again.</p><p>A hot, slick rush of sugar and pungent floral met his tongue, and Draco grunted in soft surprise.  Fingers threaded through his hair, and elbows pressed against his chest as Lou held him down.  Sharp teeth nipped at his bottom lip, and he opened to the kiss, sighing as Lou's chin tilted to meet him.</p><p>Lou trailed kisses along his jaw, and goosebumps rose down Draco's arms.  His hands along Lou's groin moved, pressing his thumbs up Lou's inner thighs.  A faint, pleading whine next to his ear made Draco's cock throb in response.</p><p>"Please," Lou whispered, face buried in Draco's neck.  His stubble scratched along the soft skin.  "Please."</p><p>Grateful for the darkness, Draco grinned to himself and dug his thumbs in on either side of the bulge in Lou's trousers.  The man in his lap whimpered, and his hips thrust forward.</p><p>"Please what, Louis?" Draco murmured into the curls next to his face.  Gods, he still smelled so bloody good.  The rocking motion of Lou's hips against his own hardening cock was nearly too much friction, and would have to be dealt with soon.</p><p>"Anything," Lou rasped.  His fingers found the button at Draco's collar, but hesitated.  "Anything you want."</p><p>"Sit up."  With another smirk in the darkness, Draco snatched the fingers from his collar and pressed them over his own hard length.  The fingers struggled against his grip, flitting around in search of his zipper, but he held them tight.  Slowly, he thrust up against Lou's fingers, and the man sobbed out an eager whimper.  "What do <em>you</em> want?"</p><p>"I..." Lou whispered.  "I want to touch you.  Your cock.  I want your fucking cock," he said in a breathless rush.</p><p>Draco huffed an amused laugh and leaned his head against the back of the chair.  The sheer <em>need</em> in his voice was practically edible.</p><p>"No.  If you want <em>this</em>," Draco rubbed Lou's hand along his erection for emphasis, "it won't be here, and it won't be in the dark."</p><p>He released the hands in his laps, and his own fingers found Lou's trouser front.  With a conspicuously loud button pop and unzipping, Lou's cock sprang free, and Draco wrapped his fist around it.  He squeezed tightly, and his own trapped cock throbbed under Lou's hand as the other man groaned.</p><p>Fingers scrabbled around Draco's cock, trying to get a good grip on it through the taut fabric.  Lou growled, breath panting as he failed.</p><p>"Spoiled little Veela," Draco crooned.</p><p>Draco's other hand slid down inside Lou's trouser to cup him, giving him a gentle tug.  He froze as the lights flickered.</p><p>Dirty blond curls rocked along Lou's face as he swayed, cock thrusting into Draco's grip.  Pearl-white teeth biting down into the lush softness of his bottom lip.  Eyes closed and head hung, tension in his brow.</p><p>A brief glimpse, and the room was pitch black again, but that quick peek was enough for Draco's chest to flush with arousal.  A scarlet blush crept up his neck and warmed the air between his skin and his collar.</p><p>The button of Draco's trousers popped open, and his gut lurched in anticipation.  Lou's fingers fumbled for his zipper, but Draco hummed low in warning.  Smiling to himself in the darkness again, he waited.  Those fingers didn't stop, and his own hand tightened around Lou's bollocks.</p><p>"No," Draco said sternly, giving him another tug.</p><p>Another petulant whine, and another self-satisfied smirk in the dark.  Fingers gripped the head of Draco's cock tightly, and his breath hissed in.  The growing damp spot inside his pants was entirely too good. </p><p>A low, sweet ache bloomed at the base of his spine, more intense with every brush of Lou's hand across his trousers.  He caught Lou's wrists in one hand, holding them tight while he continued stroking with the other hand.  Beads of moisture slicked over Draco's palm and down Lou's shaft, adding a sticky, sucking note to the feathery sound of skin on skin.</p><p>"Please," Lou whispered, wrists tugging against Draco's grip.</p><p>One at a time, he placed Lou's hands on his shoulders and pressed them into his shirt.  "Hands here, Louis."</p><p>"But-"</p><p>"Shh," Draco hushed, slipping his hand back into Lou's trousers.  Rather than cup him again, he let his fingers drift further back.  Had he ever had a man touch his arse?  Had they ever managed to get that far?</p><p>Draco's fingertips skimmed over short, soft hair to hard, smooth skin, and stuttered to a stop at the feel of warm, round... metal?</p><p>Lou's breath hitched, Draco's brow furrowed, and a wicked grin spread slowly across his face as his wandering touch felt around the edges.  A metal ball dug into Lou's body behind his balls, tethered by a bar of metal that lead to his hole.  Draco gripped the thin, smooth bar and gave it a wiggle. </p><p>Lou gasped as the plug inside him moved.  "Oh, fuck."</p><p>"Interesting," Draco murmured, wishing he could see Lou's face in the dark.  "Bit unprofessional, don't you think?"</p><p>He withdrew the plug a hairsbreadth, tilted it forward, and pushed it back in.  Lou's groan shook his chest, and Draco felt the vibration in the metal between his fingers, and a resounding throb in his trapped cock.</p><p>"Fuck me," Lou whimpered.</p><p>Randy little shit.  His wrist readjusted, preparing to pull it out further, but met the tight fabric of Lou's trousers.  Unacceptable.</p><p>"Undress."</p><p>The rocking, whimpering undone mess of a man on his lap froze.  "Yeah?  Yeah, yeah," Lou whispered, shoving off from Draco's shoulders and hopping to his feet.  His arse hit the table, and silverware clattered in the dark.  "Shit."</p><p>Fabric tugged, rustled, and another knock sounded against the table, followed by Lou swearing under his breath.  A slick skim of shoelaces, maybe, Draco thought, trying to suss out what Lou was doing in the pitch black space between himself and the table.</p><p>As if summoned, the wall sconces flickered, a humming sputter of light.  Draco blinked in the sudden soft light, wincing a bit. </p><p>Lou, however, continued undressing at a pace that suggested his shorts were on fire.  His white button-down pooled around his feet, atop black trousers and socks.  If he'd worn pants, Draco certainly didn't see them.  Or they'd been incinerated, after all.</p><p>Bloody fucking hell, Draco thought.  The man was <em>built</em>.  Chalk one up for the Weasleys.</p><p>His thick, ruddy cock jutted out from trim, muscular hips.  Broad, sturdy shoulders tapered down to a firm, tan chest with a thick dusting of dark blonde hair. </p><p>He met Draco's gaze, half-gone with lust as his eyes raked down Draco's clothed form.  Draco licked his lips, welcoming the appraisal.  His hand crept down to run a firm palm down his length, and Lou's eyes followed it.  They followed as that hand slid back up Draco's chest, over his shirt, up his neck, and into his hair.</p><p>"Turn around."</p><p>Lou's eyes went wide, and his lips parted.  His weight shifted foot to foot, and his teeth worried at the inside of his lip.</p><p>"I'm not going to fuck you, Louis."</p><p>"Oh," he whispered vacantly.  "Uhm.  You can-"</p><p>Draco held up a finger and spun it lazily in the air.  "Turn."</p><p>Slowly, Lou complied, turning to give Draco an utterly gorgeous view.  Perfect dimples adorned his lower back, just above the delicious curve of his ass.</p><p>He was built to be consumed.  Tasted.  Bitten, even.  Hard-muscled, but not too lean.  Every inch of him thick and kneadable. </p><p>"<em>Christ</em>," Draco whispered to himself.  Imminently fuckable.</p><p>Lou's back heaved with his breathing, and he looked over his shoulder with a quirk of an eyebrow.  He bent at the waist, just a bit, and a glint of silver metal in the crevice of his ass caught the light.  Right, that, Draco thought.</p><p>"Turn and sit."</p><p>The cock bobbing toward him and settling over his lap looked <em>painfully</em> hard.  Clear fluid beaded at the tip and dropped slowly onto Draco's trousers as Lou settled back on his lap.</p><p>With an eager wiggle, Lou set his hands back on Draco's shoulders, but the angle was off, and Draco peeked around Lou's shoulder, judging the distance between them and the table.</p><p>"Lay back, elbows on the table behind you," Draco said softly.  "And spread your legs."</p><p>A middling note, neither a moan nor a hum, fell from Lou as he leaned back and spread open for Draco.  He was beyond exposed, laid out like a goddamn feast, and Draco let Lou watch a dark grin spread over his face.  Lou's flanks ran with goosebumps as Draco's hands ran up his inner thighs.</p><p>"Oh, shit," Lou whispered, hips tensing as Draco's hands took separate paths, one wrapping around his cock, and the other slithering along the skin of his crevice.  "<em>Shit, shit, shit...</em>" he hissed.</p><p>Wide blue eyes watched Draco's hands, then flicked up to his face.  Draco shook his head and clicked his tongue, condescension thick. </p><p>"Oh, Louis," he purred. "I'm going to take you the fuck apart."</p><p>His fingers wrapped around the handle of the plug and tugged, pulling the blunt-headed, hooked metal length half-way out.  Draco's cock throbbed against his strained trousers as Lou whimpered.  Slowly, he eased the girth of it back in, angling the bulbous head of it over Lou's prostate.</p><p>"<em>Oh, mother fucking fuck fuck fucker</em>," Lou yammered. </p><p>His hips bucked up, thrusting his cock into Draco's grip, and his head lolled back.  Draco pulled the plug, in and out, over and over that hardening spot, while a desperate keening noise wrenched itself from Lou's throat.</p><p>In his fist, Lou's length throbbed, impossibly hard and drooling down itself in.  A patchy, scattered flush crept up the man's entire torso, fanning out across his chest, skipping his neck, and reappearing in a scarlet rush across his cheeks.</p><p>"Oh god," Lou chanted, "oh god, I'm coming, fuck."</p><p>Panting, skin hot and trousers painfully tight, Draco gritted his teeth.  One hand pressed the hard metal length inside him as the other gripped his cock as it pulsed.  Thick white ropes erupted, trailing down Draco's fist, scattering up Lou's abdomen, and spattering Draco's shirt cuff.</p><p>Slowly, Lou's breathing calmed, and he sighed, shoulders sagging.  Draco jiggled the plug for good measure, and Lou's entire body jerked with a sharp shout.</p><p>"Fucking hell," Lou said in a sigh.  "You weren't joking."</p><p>He wiggled the plug again as he pulled it out, and Lou rewarded him with an interested grunt.  Draco wiped his hand off on a coarse cloth napkin and laid the plug on it.  Convenient.  </p><p>Lou pushed off from the table, rocking forward.  His hands clapped over Draco's shoulders, and he glared down at him.</p><p>"Your turn," Lou chirped.  Draco didn't respond, and Lou's face fell.  "Right?"  Lou's palm slid down to press over Draco's hard cock.</p><p>Draco's tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth as he shook his head.  "Spoiled little Huffleslut."</p><p>Lou's placid smile turned, scowl growing.  "Please?"  His hands worked Draco through his trousers, stroking, cupping, kneading.  "I want it."</p><p>Draco leaned back with a smirk.  "Patience."</p><p>Lou slumped, hands stilling.  "When?"  A rather fine pout, Draco thought.</p><p>His breath blew out in a slow, stalling exhale.  Bloody good question.  The owner and founder of the largest apothecary chain in Europe would do well to keep his dick in his pants in public.</p><p>"Soon," Draco murmured.  His thumb swept up the cooling come on Lou's abdomen, and he popped it in his own mouth.  "I promise."</p><p>Lou's hands skimmed back up to Draco's shoulders, over his nipples with a bit of hesitation.  "Okay," Lou murmured, laying a chaste peck on Draco's lips.  "You promise."</p><p>Draco's fingers carded through Lou's curls, pulling him down into a long, searing, searching kiss.  Lou moaned at the taste of his own come on Draco's lips, and Draco's tongue sought out the lingering traces of sweet mead in Lou's mouth.</p><p>They took turns pulling back and refusing to part, but sighed with sympathetic smiles when they did.</p><p>"Feel free to Vanish any of Richards other travesties on my behalf," Draco murmured, giving Lou a firm pat on the backside as he shuffled into his trousers.</p><p>"Consider it done," Lou said with a wink as he turned and left.</p><p>The door snicked shut behind him, and Draco drew a long breath and counted.  One... Two...  Three...</p><p>"Bloody fucking hell," he hissed as he lurched out of his chair toward the attached restroom, locking the door behind him.</p><p>His hands shook as he dropped his trousers and pants in one fell swoop and took himself in hand over the sink.  His fist tugged his skin over the head of his cock, already leaking again.</p><p><em>Merlin's fucking mantits</em>, the sounds he'd made.  And the way he'd <em>begged</em>.  Good gods below.</p><p>And that fucking ass of his.  That tight slick hole that rode the silver length in his hand like his body was utterly made to take a cock.</p><p>A hot rush of blood bloomed under his skin, and he glanced in the mirror, cheeks florescent pink and hard grey eyes gleaming.  His eyes fluttered shut, whites showing, as that dull, sweet ache gathered again at the base of his spine, growing stronger with each pass of his fist over sensitive skin.</p><p>His free hand gripped the cold porcelain of the sink as pleasure grew, hot and insistent.  It pulled, curling his toes as it pressed forward.  A fine sheen of sweat across his upper lip cooled under his own heaving breath as the pressure crested.  He exhaled as it broke, coming in a silent, breathless, quaking shudder.  His body painted the porcelain, gleaming white on gleaming white. </p><p>Invisible and silent in his release.</p><p>With a resigned sigh, he tucked himself away, rinsed the sink, washed his hands, fixed his hair, and returned to his chair.</p><p> </p><p><em>Tempus.</em> 4:55 PM</p><p>Damned if he hadn't spent most of his afternoon disassembling a horny Veela.  Draco's scrolls lay wound tight, already packed for the trip back to the lab.</p><p>Lou breezed in, a large styrofoam container in hand.</p><p>"It was all awful.  All of it.  I Vanished everything but the <em>kanelbullar,</em> so here are four of them."  He handed the container off, and Draco peeked inside at the sweetbreads before scribbling a note on the menu.</p><p>"Right," Draco said, with a bit too much finality.  He stood and tucked the scrolls under his arm, stepping toward the restroom and Apparition point within.  He rounded the end of the table, and Lou met him.  "Next week, then," he said, unsure of what kind of parting Lou expected.</p><p>"Oh.  Right."  Lou drew back a bit and sighed, lips in a tight line.  "I, uhm.  Thank you.  I guess."</p><p>Draco fought a wince on both their behalves.  "You're welcome."</p><p>Lou's lips parted to speak, but he looked away, gaze intent on the floor off in the corner.</p><p>Draco turned and walked to the Apparition point.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Possible Lacewing binding substitutes:  Snakeweed, Plantain, Wormwood Root</strong>
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  <em>Richard, you wanker.  Everything was utterly fucked.  Except the cinnamon roll.  I do love a heavily-glazed cinnamon roll.</em>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Prix Fixe:  French; fixed price</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Prix fixe:<br/><i>noun, plural</i> prix fixes  [pree -fiks; French pree -feeks].<br/>a fixed price charged for a meal chosen at the chef's discretion.<br/>antonym, <i>á la carte</i>: selected items ordered at will by the guest</p>
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    <p>Draco washed his hands for the third time, but they weren't shaking any less.  Just a fine tremor, really.  For the umpteenth time, he patted his pocket, reassured by its contents.</p><p>It was just a gift, he reminded himself.  An expensive, thoughtful, rare gift.  But just a gift.  A silly gift, even.  Maybe.</p><p>Maybe Louis wouldn't even like them, but would take them out of pity.  His hand pulled them out to inspect them yet again, but his fingers shook a little less.</p><p>He was going to give Louis Weasley a set of 600 year-old enchanted hair pins, and perhaps he'd like them, and perhaps he wouldn't, but Draco was still going to do it.  He was going to give him a pair of long, tarnished-silver prongs, set with sapphires at the top, and he was <em>not</em> going to say anything about the color of Louis's eyes.</p><p>It was a practical gift, what with the enchantment.  At some point, dismayed by her waning coif, an empress had had the pins spelled to prevent any and all shedding of hair.  She'd probably never intended for them to be used by a Veela in a potion lab to prevent cauldron contamination, but that was beside the point.</p><p>They were understated, but beautiful.  Practical and interesting.  They were perfect.</p><p>And they were the perfect segue.  Draco hadn't <em>actually</em> been worried Louis would contaminate potions if he invited him on a tour of Malfesium's labs, but the pins provided a handy excuse to extend the invitation.</p><p>Hair pins, lab tour, maybe dinner, definitely bed.  And soon.  Gods, the sooner, the better.  Maybe tonight, even.  </p><p>The outer door of the private dining room shushed open, and Draco took a long, steadying breath.  It was just a date.  No, not even a real date.</p><p><em>Tempus.</em> 2:00 PM</p><p>Draco swallowed past the lump in his throat and pushed through the restroom door, but nearly turned and sobbed back through it.  The old waiter was back.  The man with the dark hair.  Philippe, Louis had said.</p><p>The man nodded somberly, practically a bow, and extended an arm toward Draco's seat.  He straightened and turned for the door.</p><p>"Where's Louis?" Draco whispered, fighting the tremor in throat that had crept up from his hands.</p><p>The man blinked at him for a long moment.  "Bordeaux," he said slowly, perfectly accented.  "A university chemistry specialty."  The words rolled through his molars with an elegant French accent that felt like a personal insult.</p><p><em>Bordeaux.  </em>He'd written the bloody letter himself and forgotten about it.</p><p>"I see," Draco said, taking his seat. "Good for him."</p><p>"Yes, yes," Philippe said, nodding too quickly.  "It took him weeks to find a flat there."</p><p>The back of Draco's tongue threatened to strangle him from the inside.  <em>Weeks</em>.  Louis had known for <em>weeks</em>, and never said a word.  <em>Please?  When? </em> <em>Okay.  You promise. </em></p><p>And then he left.</p><p>Draco had paved a path for him, and Louis had taken it.  Good for him.  Truly.  Tears welled against his lower lids, and he blinked them away.</p><p>Philippe held a bottle of wine out for his approval, and he nodded.  "Thank you, Philippe," Draco murmured, and the man blinked slowly at him again before leaving.</p><p>The table setting was flawless.  The menu was crisp on the center of the table; the dishes uninspired.  The wine was predictable.</p><p>His fingers drew the hair pins from his pocket and set them on the table; oddly empty without scrolls today.  The silver gleamed dully, but the sapphires ate the dim light and glowed with azure fire.  Perfect.</p><p>With a whisper, he Vanished them.</p><p>Vanished, like all unworthy things.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>There's an opening for a seventh chapter with a happy ending.  If there's screaming.</p><p>Message me on <a href="https://vukovich.tumblr.com/">Tumblr: Vukovich</a><br/><a href="mailto:riley.vukovich@gmail.com">Email me.</a>  Really.  It's cool.</p>
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